


Dancing About Architecture

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, dancing with the stars au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is one of the professional partners and Derek is a professional baseball player who's losing fame fast, and needs some way to revamp his career while it's the offseason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing About Architecture

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s my other Sterek campaign comission! Now that I’ve finished these I’m really sad I only signed up to be available for two :( I liked doing this.
> 
> Anyways! This is for min7girl (her email account name, I guess? We didn’t exchange usernames.)
> 
> So, here’s the Dancing With the Stars!AU. I’m not totally happy with this, but HAVE AT IT, PEOPLE.

“Derek, it’s just gonna be a few weeks.”

Derek shifts uneasily where he sits, arms crossed over his chest and slouching in his chair. His uncle looms over him with an eerier smirk. “Besides,” Peter cuts across the team manager, “think of it this way: if you _really_  suck, it’ll be over even quicker.”

Derek scowls, and the team manager, a squirrely and crazed man who goes by Finstock—just, Finstock—hurried forward. He seems to always be shouting, a fact that works in game but grows annoying fast outside the diamond. “It’ll be good publicity, and it’s a good way to keep you in shape in the off season.”

“I have my own ways of staying in shape.” Derek snarls, leaning forward and growling in Finstock’s face. “I don’t need some dancing gig on a stupid show. That’s Whittemore levels of ridiculous.”

Finstock shakes his head. “It’s too late. We’ve already got you signed up.” Finstock cuffs him upside the head in what is probably supposed to be a fond gesture but after all these years is just the wrong side of too hard. “Congrats, Hale, you’re gonna be part of the ever same sex couple!”

Derek flinches away from Finstock’s laugh and the chili-cheese-dog stink of it.

)

“So, Derek. Professional baseball player, devilishly handsome, dancer?”

Derek puts on his most practiced grin. “Dancing is just as much a sport as football or baseball. It requires the same athleticism, if not more.”

“Are you saying you’re predicting an advantage over your competition?”

“Not at all,” Derek replies honestly. “All I’m saying is that it’s not strange for athletes to dance.”

The interviewer, someone for U.S. Weekly, Derek thinks, hums and taps her pen on her notepad. “Now, how about this breaking news that you will be part of the first ever same sex couple to dance on the show?”

Derek shrugs. “I’m just hoping no one expects to see me in a dress.”

)

Derek shuffles into the room and nearly slips on the well-polished floor.

“Watch out!” A voice calls out, and the sound of light footsteps follow. “You okay?”

Derek looks up to see a man in loose fitting pants and an even baggier t-shirt. “I’m fine.” He grunts out.

The man’s lip quirk up in a grin, and he extends a hand to Derek. “C’mon.” Derek takes the offered hand and hoists himself up. “Take off your shoes.”

Derek blinks.

“You’re my partner, aren’t you? Derek Hale, professional baseball player?” The man full on grins and goes so far to take Derek by the hands. “C’mon, we’re gonna start practicing. Right now. Shoes off.” The man steps on Derek’s feet until he complies. “At least you’re dressed for a work out.”

Derek frowns. “I’m not a moron.”

The man laughs. “I never said you were—but you’d be amazed how many athletes come through here thinking it’s going to be a cake walk.” He takes Derek’s hand and tugs him toward the mirrors.

Derek’s face settles into concentration as the man—who’s name he still doesn’t know—leads him through simple rhythms, slow and easy, simple side steps and turns. Derek is jerky, uneven in some movements, but the man only laughs and guides him through them again.

“Alright,” the man steps back, hours later it feels like, and grins. “Not bad.”

Derek doesn’t realize he’s out of breath until he takes a deep, refreshing inhale.

“I’ve dealt with worse,” the man tells him honestly.

“I still don’t know your name.” Derek says after he’s gorged himself on water.

The man starts and his arms flail about for a moment. “I’m Stiles,” he shoots out a hand as he takes a large sip of water. “And I’m your professional partner.” His grin is blinding, and Derek hates his life just a little more.

)

Derek stumbles to the seat and tugs at the collar of his sweaty shirt. “Do we have to do this now?” He’s fresh from rehearsal, sweaty and rank. He watches Stiles be lead into another room for a brief interview as well.

“Yes.” A director tells him, face twisted in irritation—his usual reaction to working with Derek, time has found.

Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose until the director garners his attention again.

“ _Five, four, three, two…_ ”

“So far,” Derek says, mechanical and rehearsed, “working with Stiles has been… interesting.” Derek huffs a laugh not entirely fake. “He’s energetic, and he never stops. He’s a good teacher, though.”

“So, you feel good about this season?”

Derek’s’ eyes flick to the director. “Yeah. I think it’ll be good.”

)

“Who names their kid Stiles?”

Stiles stops from where he’s wiping down his face. “Uh, no one?”

Derek gives him a look, pointed and curious and just a little short of patience.

“Oh. No, it’s a nickname, duh. My first name is just ridiculous.”

“And Stiles isn’t?”

“It’s easier to say.” He retorts.

“What’s your real name?”

“ _Gniewomir_.”

“What?”

“Exactly.”

)

“You.” Stiles snorts. “Wow.”

Derek grumbles as he adjusts the collar of his suit jacket. “Shut up.”

“No, no,” Stiles steps up and flattens out the collar in a way Derek couldn’t seem to manage. “Purple is really your color.” Stiles leans back to take in the dark purple slacks and suit jacket, unbuttoned to reveal a dark patch of Derek’s chest hair. “Very fitting.”

Derek flushes pink at the tips of his ears. “You look better.”

Stiles laughs and waves off the compliment. “This shirt is practically see through.” It’s a shiny, purple and blue iridescent material, though his slacks match Derek’s. “My dad watches this show. He’s going to see my nipples.”

Derek barks out a laugh then slaps a hand over his mouth.

Stiles just snickers and drags Derek on stage to the sound of the announcement, “And now, for our third performance tonight, for their first performance of the season, Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski performing the Foxtrot!”

)

“C’mon, this isn’t hard.” Stiles admonishes. “It’s a four count, it’s easy.”

Derek grumbles and rubs his eyes. “Why is this so  _difficult_.”

“You tell me.” Stiles grumps. “C’mon, again. Again, until it’s perfect. I have faith we can get this.”

Derek shakes his head. “I can’t. I need a break.”

“No.” Stiles cross his arms, standing tall. “No breaks.”

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” Derek snarks back as he peels off his sweat-soaked shirt.

“This is play. This is the best kind of play.” Stiles snaps right back, tugging Derek into position.

)

“Lunch break?” Stiles asks, hands on his knees, grin on his face, and completely out of breath.

“Sure.” Derek nods, gasping for his own air, grinning his own grin. They shuffle away from the mirrors to where they leave their everyday shoes and bags. Derek pulls out a box of leftover pizza and watches as Stiles darts out of the room to heat up his own takeout. Stiles skids back into the room and ends up on his knees, kneeling beside Derek with a smile.

“You enjoying the show, so far?”

Derek nods, gnawing on a piece of pizza.

“Don’t be too excited, you might break something.”

Derek snorts into his pizza, covering his mouth to laugh as he chews. “I didn’t think I’d like this. I’m still not sure dancing is something I’d ever want to… pursue. But it’s not awful.” Derek elbows Stiles teasingly.

“I never thought it’d be the path I take, but I can’t imagine anything different. I was never gonna be a star lacrosse player, I was never gonna excel academically. I never wanted to.”

Derek swallows. “When did you first get into dance?”

“Senior year of high school. I did the school’s musical, and.. It stuck. The experience stuck with me, and I just started dancing more.” Stiles grins and shovels some noodles into his mouth. “I started taking classes, and I moved to L.A. To get my name on the circuit. Here I am.”

Derek nods.

“What about you, Mister Major League?”

“I’ve been playing baseball since I was a kid. My dad taught me, all my brothers and sisters played it.”

“So you’re like the Cullens.”

Derek raises an eyebrow.

“Twilight? Robert Pattinson?” Stiles snickers. “Nevermind, carry on with the personal backstory, please.”

“I just kept playing it, through high school, got a scholarship, played through college.”

Stiles makes an unattractive slurping noise to finish off his noodles. “You’ve got the whole American Dream thing going on, don’tcha?”

Derek flushes pink again. “I guess.”

Stiles nudges Derek with his toes. “What’re your plans after this?”

“Baseball.”

“Till you die? No wife, kids? Anything?”

Derek shrugs. “Baseball is the only thing that’s keeping me happy.”

Stiles nods. “That’s how I feel about dancing, yeah.” Stiles leans back and grins. “But I wouldn’t mind settling down. I’ve got this whole fantasy in my head, where I own a dance studio, and I come home every day to my husband slaving over paperwork or dinner or just sleeping on a couch, y’know?”

Derek snickers. “Yeah. I guess.” He shrugs and sips water. “I guess it’d be nice to not have to worry about sports injuries, staying in shape, handling Finstock.”

Stiles laughs and leans over to smack at Derek’s stomach. “Good sir, I have seen your abs, and you are never allowed to get a beer belly.”

“I’m more of a wine man, myself.”

Stiles falls over laughing and Derek finds himself struck by the urge to roll over with him and just laugh.

)

“And the couple… going home tonight…”

Derek twists and turns his neck, and Stiles grips his hand tighter.

“… Will be announced after a quick commercial break!”

The whole audience groans, but the couples on the chopping block knew it was coming.

Derek relaxes, minutely, and leans over to whisper. “If I get sent home wearing teal and frills, I’m going to hunt you down and make sure your entire family sees your nipples via a see through shirt.”

Stiles snickers. “Or, Mr. Hale, at  _least_  take me out to dinner first.” Stiles shoots him a wink that keeps Derek blushing until they’re back from the commercial break.

)

“No no no no, we need to work  _harder_.” Stiles hisses, stepping back and throwing his hands in the air. “We almost got cut last week, being good isn’t _enough_.”

Derek drops to a crouch and shakes the sweat off his head. “I’m  _trying_.”

“Stop being a brat and try  _harder_.” Stiles brushes off his hands, damp and clammy with sweat. “One-two-three, slow-quick-quick, slow-quick-quick.” He drags Derek through every step until Derek retaliates by doing the same to him.

)

Stiles spits the glitter out of his mouth, a frown in place. “I think someone needs to have a serious talk with the costume department. This is getting out of control.”

Derek shivers briefly. “At least you have a shirt.”

“You’re wearing a shirt, it’s just made of glitter.”

And it’s true; across Derek’s chest is spatters of glitter, placed to almost seem like a shimmering vest, yet almost not. With every move, excess glitter flies everywhere. Stiles laughs.

“C’mon, it’s our second to last performance together.” Stiles pinches Derek’s neck. “Let’s blow ‘em away.”

“And now, as part of the semi-final performances, Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski performing the Lambada!”

)

Stiles shrugs on a jacket and slings his bag over his shoulder. “Good work today.” He tosses his water bottle in the recycling bin with a satisfied sigh. “I think we’ve got a real chance at winning.

Derek shoulders his own bag. “You busy?”

“Uh, no?” He turns off the lights, falling in step with Derek as they walk towards the main door of the building. “Why?”

“I was wondering if you’d want to grab dinner. A last hoorah.”

“We still have a rehearsal tomorrow.”

“I know.” Derek’s eyebrows pinch together, tighter when Stiles laughs softly. “But. It’s our last rehearsal before our final performance.”

Stiles tilts his head just as the streetlamps over head flicker to life.

“So, dinner?” Derek asks again, shifting from foot to foot.

“I’d like that.”

)

“You’re pretty popular.” Stiles observes as they leave the restaurant.

“I’m sorry. About that. It happens but I wasn’t really expecting it to be apparently family night out for dinner at ten o’clock at night.” Derek shoots the restaurant and its dim lights a nasty look. Stiles laughs and pulls him along.

“It was cute. You’re good with kids.” Stiles grins. “Your signature could use a little work, though.”

Derek makes the same disgruntled look at Stiles that he made at the restaurant. “Says you.”

Stiles laughs.

Derek watches him laugh, all pink cheeks and wide open mouth. Before he really thinks about it, he’s stepping forward and kissing Stiles as his laugh patters off into breathless chuckles.

Stiles’ breath catches, his hands trapped between their chests, pulling absently at the lapels of Derek’s jacket.

Derek steps back as Stiles licks his lips. “I’m. I’m sorry. That was unprofessional. You probably have a boyfriend, and, you, I.” Derek makes a distressed noise, a confused whimper.

Stiles counters Derek’s step back with a step forward, and cups his jaw, stroking his fingertips along Derek’s stubbled jaw. “It’s okay. I don’t have a boyfriend.” Stiles leans up and kisses the frown from Derek’s lips. “And it really is unprofessional but I don’t care because it’s a lot less professional than the fantasies I’ve had.”

“Oh?” Derek growls, hands coming to rest in the small of Stiles’ back.

“Let’s just say I have a big thing for those mirrors in the studio.”

)

“The mambo.” Derek settles his chin on Stiles’ shoulder.

“We just keep getting sexier and sexier.” Stiles teases as he leans back into the embrace. “Think we’re gonna win?”

“Julianne Hough, though.” Derek comments, watching the screen as Julianne and her partner Charleston their way across the stage, up and down the steps, bowing here and kicking there.

They end with an explosion of lights and an impressive lift; the audience erupts in cheers and applause, and one of the presenters slips into the waiting room and motions Derek and Stiles over.

“So, word on the street is that you two have found romance?”

Stiles beams. “It’s a real fairytale.”

Tom Bergernon grins and holds out the microphone to Derek. “What about you, how are you feeling?”

“This show has been an excellent experience, not only for the dance and exercise, but also for the relationship Stiles and I have found.”

The audience aw’s and Derek flushes a bright pink.

“Well, I think it’s time for your final performance, so best of luck!”

Stiles and Derek both wave, and share a brief kiss in a rare moment of no cameras, and bow their way onto the stage.

“And now, for the last performance of the season, Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski performing the Mambo!”

)

“I can’t believe you went with the yellow.”

“And the purple!” Derek barks. “The purple ties everything together.”

Stiles laughs, loud and obnoxious and arms full of thick paintbrushes as he walks into the room. “This is my studio, you know.”

“Ours.”

“You’re still Mister Major League, so it’s mostly mine.”

Derek scowls at the drying pale yellow paint and clambers down the ladder. He watches Stiles set down the brushes beside the cans of paint; as soon as his hands are free Derek gathers Stiles in his arms and kisses him firmly on the mouth. “Ours.”

Stiles laughs his way out of the kiss, arms looped around Derek’s waist. “Yeah, yeah. Ours.”


End file.
